Luthor Blackheart
by Yerk
Summary: This is about a chosen of Slaanesh trying to track down a champion of Khorne. Encountering other foes and allies on the way
1. The Reckoning

Luthor Blackheart sat at the top of the large oak table in his large Mordheim hall, his war band all around him drinking ale and eating meat. Luthor Blackheart was a vicious overlord of a band of gangers, all of them dedicated to Slaanesh - the chaos god of torturous pleasure. He had his two hounds conveniently named Flesh Tearer and Blood Fang; these he mainly used as defence against renegade assassins who would attack him whenever his back was turned. He also had an assortment of assassins and warriors. Luthor was probably one of the most sinister looking people to roam the world today, because of his horribly burnt face. Nobody dared ask him the origin of these scars. Luthor wore a large hood to cover his identity and to look as sinister as he could.  
  
One stormy night in Luthor's hideout a new face appeared outside. He was a tall muscular man, with a huge sword strapped to his waist and covered in a long deep red cloak. "What business do you have here?" asked the guards 

"I want to speak with Luthor Blackheart", 

"Password?" 

"Tell him his days are numbered and that Dreadthor will rule all." With that, the character turned and left. The guards ran after the stranger and grabbed him. 

"Wait" shouted one guard. The man turned around, removed his hood and stared him in the eye, the guards gasped just before the stranger's sword was plunged down one of the men's throat, then he yanked the sword back out and sliced the stomach open. Blood spurted over the stranger. He then turned and pulled the dead guard's entrails out of his body. The attacker was stood with a chunk of his enemy's intestine in his hand, 

"Your skull will sit with thousands of others on the throne of Khorne!" said the stranger before he thrust the intestine down the throat of the guard, he gave a slight laugh as he watched his foe suffocate on his partner's gut.  
  
"Sir, I think you should see this," said a warrior, avoiding eye contact from Luthor. Luthor walked outside to see his comrades inside out. Luthor groaned as he grabbed his unique flail: the Flail of the Blackheart, unlike most mundane flails, this flail had scraps of sharpened metal on the end instead of heavy spiked balls. Rather than cause fatalities it gifted the victims with excruciating pain. He stood brandishing his ornate weapon, in a flash Luthor swung the flail and vented his anger onto one of his men. There was a loud silence as the victim curled up in the foetus position, cradling his face in his bloody hands. After this cathartic moment Luthor turned to his men "Right, we are going to find this person and then we are going to send him to see his worthless god!" cried Luthor and his men. He grabbed his armour and readied his men. 


	2. Blood For The Blood God

Luthor looked out of the window of his black coach at the dimly lit streets of the ruined city, he signalled for the coach to stop and hopped down. "Jev" Luthor shouted  
  
"Yes sir" replied the burly bodyguard  
  
"We're here, this is the place the scouts tracked the attacker"  
  
"Sir, they think he may be a follower of Khorne"  
  
"Yes, I know"  
  
"But Khorne worshippers tend to be very ferocious and..." the man was clearly afraid.  
  
"Jev, are you frightened by these fools" questioned Luthor  
  
"No sir"  
  
"Good, now wake the men and tool up, blood will be spilt tonight in the name of Slaanesh".  
  
Two men stood either side of the large, fairly feeble door. Luthor gave the signal and his men kicked the door down, his men ran in brandishing axes and morning stars. Inside a man quickly rose to his feet and grabbed a large knife but he was cut down before he had time to use it. Luthor observed the room and saw that one of the bodies was holding a smoking pipe; he bent downed and picked it up. It contained small traces of warpstone.  
  
He walked up the stairs and entered the first room, a man in a red cloak armed with a rune-encrusted axe attacked him, his assailant was fast but Luthor ducked under the axe and withdrew his two, long curved blades. He thrust his knives under the ribs of his attacker, then he pulled them back out and shoved them into the man's shoulders, he felt bone crack as he dislodged his attackers shoulder blades. Luthor calmly finished him off by slicing off the head.  
  
Luthor spat at the fallen and proceeded into the next room, he heard shouts from outside "Blood for the blood god! Skulls for the skull throne!" "Khorne worshippers!" Luthor said as he rushed to the window and saw one of his coaches aflame. Luthor cursed as he saw his hounds trying to fend off the attackers. He gasped as his hounds were butchered like cattle.  
  
Luthor jumped the five-foot down to the road and with inhuman speed lashed the face of one Khorne worshiper with his flail while he parried a blow with his long knife. Luthor's retribution was swift as he danced around his foe, lashing, filling his opponent full of small cuts. Eventually his foe fell into a pile of blood. He noticed a red clad warrior watching him.  
  
The red armoured warrior thought hard about this one, maybe this Luthor was a wild elf from the forest realm of Loren, no, he was to resilient for an elf, but the way he danced around his foe reminded him of a cult of wood elves known as wardancers.  
  
Luthor approached the red armoured champion and demanded a name, the Khorne champion shook his head "Your skull is not needed on the mighty throne, not yet anyway," said the Khornate warrior as he turned, mounted a steed and rode off into the cursed town. Luthor realised that he was destined to fight this fool, for Slaanesh. 


	3. Worlds Edge Mountains

Luthor was boiling in red fury. Who was this to slaughter his beloved hounds, and not even have the courage to face him! Luthor stepped back into the smoky building and addressed his men, "We hunt the red-armoured one and gain favour from the beloved Slaanesh" Luthor spoke loudly. His men cheered. Luthor, two beastmen and three marauders set off down the wet, cobbled street. Constantly looking to their sides for enemy's benefiting from the nights cloak.  
  
They saw light in a building and peered in through the dim window. "Strange. Usually people do not dwell in this part of Mordheim except gangers, these are clearly unarmed." Said Luthor suspiciously. He gave a signal and the beastmen barged through the door. The room was musky and smelt highly of sweat and blood. The walls were made of rotten wood and were falling apart. Only a figure in a large black robe was sat in the corner, a large black hood was pulled tightly around his face. The strange figure appeared to be weeping.  
  
One of the marauders dashed upstairs and returned with news. "Sir, the upstairs has a shrine devoted to the hammer god of Sigmar," said the marauder anxiously, for Luthor was highly unpredictable at the sign of bad or unexpected news.  
  
"The hammer bearer rarely has devotees in Mordheim" said Luthor addressing the black figure.  
  
"Sigmar est dominatus, Sigmar est victorious!" cried the black figure that leapt at Luthor.  
  
Luthor's assailant was old and slow and he dodged the strike with ease to bring his flail crashing across the figure's back as he fell. The figure lay on the floor writhing in agony. Luthor stooped and removed the hood; to his surprise it was a woman.  
  
"What daemon be this!" cried the woman.  
  
"This city belongs to Slaanesh. Not Sigmar, nor the sell-swords, or even the Horned Rat's kin. It belongs to Slaanesh and I will deliver it to him!" Luthor declared as he plunged his knife through the woman's chest. Luthor looked at the house where the shrine to Sigmar was now burning, he had removed one Sigmar purist from the city, just to remove all the other Sigmarites from the world. He thought happily.  
  
It was morning and the sun fought a desperate battle with the thick clouds to light the city, but to no avail. The clouds were too thick and black for any light to penetrate.  
  
A marauder came running down the street towards Luthor's temporary camp, which was an abandoned house.  
  
"What?" asked Luthor  
  
"The red-armoured one heads to the worlds Edge Mountains" said the marauder  
  
"What could he possibly want that is there?" questioned Luthor  
  
"I'm not sure," answered the marauder  
  
"How did you acquire this information?"  
  
"A messenger gave it to me as I was returning from patrol" "A messenger?" thought Luthor trying to put together what was happening. "The tomb of Skaloth" thought Luthor aloud "What?" asked the curious marauder.  
  
"Sklaloth Ironclaw, besieger of the Dwarf stronghold of Karag-Dum. His final resting place lies in those mountains. It is said that who ever discovers and opens his tomb will be rewarded by god like artefacts and favour from the dark ones themselves. Many have tried but none return alive or sane," said Luthor  
  
"Surely this is just legend" asked the marauder  
  
"Are you suggesting that I am wrong?" enquired Luthor as the marauder started to sweat.  
  
"No sir, of course not" said the marauder, knowing that if he said yes it could prove fatal, or worse.  
  
"We head towards these mountains immedietly, leave no traces of us being here," said Luthor as he grabbed his equipment and clambered into the coach. 


	4. Wolf Riders

Luthor looked at the mountain pass from the window of his coach. The pass was a narrow dirt track over-looking a cliff edge; it was clearly to narrow for a coach to progress through so Luthor ordered his men to disembark. The sky was a pale blue with hardly a cloud to see. Chirping noises emerged from the evergreen trees of the Worlds Edge Mountains. Luthor led the trek.  
  
They travelled in two-by-two formation with Luthor at the front alone. They followed the winding path up and down, round and round until his men were getting tired and bravely demanded a rest. "We must be cautious" Luthor said, "This pass is inhabited by greenskins and the caves house worse creatures"  
  
"Like what?" Asked a curious marauder The warband were surprised at Luthor not contradicting the marauder.  
  
"Some say that the caverns stretch on for many leagues, and are inhabited by the undead"  
  
"Undead?"  
  
"Yes the walking abominations that roam the world. vampires, zombies, skeletons. All hate the living and have sworn to gain vengeance"  
  
"I'm not scared of any zombies. My axe thirsts for blood, it's had nothing but campfire wood for many weeks" bellowed a big marauder named Karl Ironhelm  
  
"I highly doubt that you're axe thirsts for the blood of the dead" Said Luthor as he left camp for firewood.  
  
In the morning Luthor looked out over the landscape and sensed something odd. He thought he heard horns being sounded. "Luthor! Orcs and wolf riders!" screamed a scout as a crudely built arrow appeared through his throat.  
  
"Damn greenskins" Luthor muttered to himself as he drew his two blades. He ran down to the camp and saw his warband battling with some wolf riders. Karl Ironhelm was fighting his way through the wolves; he almost looked like he was enjoying himself.  
  
"For Slaanesh!" bellowed Luthor as he leapt at a goblin, pulling him from his wolf. Luthor's blades whirled in deadly arcs. Black goblin blood flew everywhere, covering Luthor. A Goblin spear was heading for Luthor but He easily parried the blow and jumped onto the back of the wolf. He plunged his blade into the back of the goblin's neck, the greenskin let out a yelp as he tumbled from the speeding wolf and smashed onto the ground.  
  
Luthor took control of the wolf and steered it towards the camp to aid his troops, but when he arrived all the wolves were slain. All the men were admiring the burly marauder for his killing.  
  
Luthor jumped from the wolf and the wolf galloped off into the hills. "More greenskins come!" shouted a marauder "and these are not Goblins. They are orcs"  
  
"Orcs! Hah!" bellowed Karl Ironhelm "Let them come!"  
  
"They are to many" Luthor calmly said  
  
"What?" Questioned Karl. Luthor immedietly rose and met him in the eye  
  
"Did you just question me?" Luthor asked,  
  
"Yes. I did. I don't want to die in the service of a coward," said Karl.  
  
"Yes! I vote Karl the new leader of our warband!" bellowed a marauder from the camp.  
  
"Luthor Blackheart no longer rules the warband. I do!" bellowed Karl. Karl Ironhelm was bigger and possibly stronger than Luthor but there was no doubt that Luthor was faster.  
  
"You must flee. There are to many orcs to fight," said Luthor  
  
"See, he is a coward" exclaimed Karl  
  
"No, it is for your' own safety" said Luthor, still remaining calm. Karl Ironhelm walked over to the edge of the hill and examined the greenskin force. "Very well, we flee to the caverns until we can ambush them" said Karl.  
  
"No! Not the caverns. They are inhab..." said Luthor until he was interrupted by Karl.  
  
"Now you change your' mind!" said Karl  
  
"No, I suggest that we flee into the forest" said Luthor, resisting the urge to behead this fool.  
  
"You are no longer in command Luthor Blackheart. I am and I say that we flee to the caverns. Come on men, leave what can be spared" said Karl. Karl Ironhelm and the warband picked up weapons and some provisions. Then they headed for the caves. "No!" ordered Luthor. But it was too late they had disappeared into the caverns.  
  
Luthor cursed and sheathed his blades. He took one more look at the mass of orcs and fled into the forest. 


	5. The Orc Convoy

Luthor thought fast and fled under an overturned tree log. The orcs drew nearer and Luthor kept thinking that he would be spotted and that he should run to another hide out, but he knew he was too late. A big orc, covered in black armour stood at the front of the rabble, bellowing orders to his lackeys. The orc warlord had two broken tusks and carried a two handed axe. The orc stopped and sniffed the air.  
  
"What do you smell?" asked an orc.  
  
"Man flesh," replied the warlord.  
  
"Man flesh?" questioned the orc. The warlord turned and looked at the tree Luthor was hiding under.  
  
"Under there" said the orc while moving over to the tree. Luthor grasped his flail tightly. The warlord drew nearer as Luthor could smell his putrid stench. All the other orcs stared on intently. Luthor knew the orc warlord was too close for comfort so he vaulted him self over the tree log and lashed the orc's ugly face with his flail. The orc let out a spine-wracking roar but didn't fall to his knees like most victims.  
  
Luthor was on his feet and running before any of the dim-witted orcs could have worked out what had just happened. Eventually they figured out what had occurred. "A human!" bellowed another orc chief as the orc archers pulled crude arrows to their bows. They took careful aim, but a blind, drunken snotling could've done better. The arrows either hit the ground near Luthor's feet or went way overhead. Luthor kept running but halted when he heard a familiar howl. Wolf riders. The chilling howl was also accompanied by a boar like snorting.  
  
A wolf rider came up behind Luthor with his spear poised for the strike. Luthor sensed this, grabbed the spear and hoisted himself up onto the back of the wolf. The goblin tumbled off his mount due to lack of space and Luthor's weight advantage. Luthor held on to the wolf's reins and steered it further into the forest with other wolf riders in pursuit. He saw some dark shapes emerge from the trees ahead; they were too big and slow to be wolves. They must be boar riders. He saw them trying to block his way through the small space in between two trees. Luthor was going to fast and the enemy wolf riders were too close behind for Luthor to turn to the side or bail off the speeding wolf.  
  
The boar riders had now completely blocked the way ahead and were positioning their spears at Luthor with menacing grins. Suddenly Luthor was struck with an idea... He spurred on his wolf to go faster and the wolf reluctantly agreed. He was now a few metres away from the line of boar riders. The few seconds seemed like an eternity. Just before he connected with an orc spear he jumped forward, over the orc boar rider. The wolf let out an awkward cry as the spear plunged deep into the creature's chest. Luthor flew over the orc boar rider and landed awkwardly on his left hand. There was a snap as Luthor's left forearm bent the wrong way. He almost showed some pain. Almost.  
  
The boar riders toppled off their mounts as the wolf riders that were pursuing Luthor, crashed into the waiting boar riders. The dense greenskins hadn't realised Luthor had led them into a trap. He had made them charge one another. Luthor rose, clutching his snapped arm. He decided that he would head back towards his previous camp, hoping that there would be some left over provisions. When he reached the camp he found it abandoned. He then decided to look into the mouth of the caverns, but not enter. Luthor peered into the cave and saw his former warband all slaughtered. Some with their own knives in their backs. Then he saw Karl Ironhelm. Karl was crouch near the cave wall. His eyes were open, but he did not stir. Luthor said his name but no answer came. Luthor kicked him in the gut but nothing. He was still breathing but he didn't show any signs of life other than he was breathing and the sheer expression of terror written across his face. 


	6. An Unexpected Ally

Luthor turned from the cave mouth and looked around the bleak landscape. The sky had now gone from pale blue to a dull grey colour and the sun had almost set. He walked over to the smouldering campfire and sat down. Then he heard a voice from behind him "Luthor Blackheart?" asked the person behind him. Luthor span around and eyed the mysterious person. The person was wearing a long black cloak, pulled tightly around him. His face was a very pale grey and he had shoulder length jet-black hair, most of his hair was behind his cloak.  
  
"Yes, who might you be?" asked Luthor, with his hand on the hilt of his knife.  
  
"There will be no need for violence Luthor," said the mystery guest, noticing Luthor was grasping his knife.  
  
"Who are you and how do you know of me?" demanded Luthor.  
  
"I am Senkrad Von Carstein, previous elector count of Starktown," replied the person.  
  
"Previous?"  
  
"Yes, I had to leave the aristocracy after... some awkward complications took place" replied Senkrad.  
  
The sky roared as a storm started to brew. Suddenly Luthor face darkened as if he had just seen a snotling slay a bloodthirster of Khorne. "Did you say your name was Von Carstein?" asked Luthor  
  
"Yes" said Senkrad with a disturbing grin.  
  
"Von Carstein was a family of...Vampires" said Luthor.  
  
"Yes. Vlad Von Carstein is the most well known. But my uncle Konrad Von Carstein is easily the most powerful. Anyway, come with me to my house in Stirland. We have much to discuss. Like Karl Ironhelm" replied Senkrad.  
  
"You. You slaughtered all my men?" asked Luthor as rain started to fall heavily.  
  
"Yes," answered Senkrad,  
  
"And you are a vampire?" Luthor asked again curiously. Senkrad opened his mouth a little to reveal small, razor white fangs.  
  
"Come Luthor Blackheart, a coach is waiting" Said the vampire.  
  
"I will never go with you," said Luthor with distaste.  
  
"Why? Do you have a grudge to bear on the legions of the dead? We can discuss your father" questioned Senkrad as he turned and walked along the muddy pass. Luthor froze. No one had mentioned his father. He looked at his situation. A storm was about to launch a relentless assault on the mountains and he had a broken arm, but this foul creature had mentioned his father. Luthor rose and followed the vampire. Still clutching his broken arm.  
  
He got to the coach and saw that it was drawn by two black steeds; the vampire was sat in the black coach with the door still open. "I was getting tired of waiting for you. Maybe I can tend to that arm of yours aswell," said Senkrad grinning.  
  
"I only came because you mentioned my father," replied Luthor as he reluctantly entered the coach. The steeds set off as soon as the door slammed shut. "Why do you want me?" asked Luthor.  
  
"I need to discuss a matter of the Imperial province known as Stirland," replied Senkrad.  
  
"Stirland?"  
  
"Yes Stirland. My family have dwelled in this province for decades, maybe more. The Drakwald forest was home to my ancestor Vlad Von Carstein. My manor also is located near this forest," answered Senkrad as the sun completely set and the coach tumbled along the muddy pass. 


	7. Back On Track

The coach came to a halt. Luthor peered out the window and saw a huge mansion; it was more like a military fort than someone's house. It had a very high tower at the back of the house and the roof had some type of Tilean tiles. The tower had black windows and a high pointed roof. It was pitch black now but Luthor's keen eyes could still make out the outlines of objects. Senkrad stepped out of the coach and pulled his cloak around him tightly, the wind was blowing strongly and was ice cold.  
  
The house had tapestries depicting forgotten battles of the Von Carstein family. Ahead of the great mansions doors was a large staircase with a red carpet draped down them. There were about five candles on each wall so the room was quite well lit, considering its inhabitant. Senkrad walked up the steps, gesturing for Luthor Blackheart to follow. When they reached the very top of the stairs they stopped. Senkrad pulled down a portrait of some lost, forgotten person. Behind the painting was a staircase, it wasn't as impressive as the rest of the house as the stairs were just stone. The walls had crude torches hanging from them, cobwebs were draped over the steps and walls and a cold breeze flowed through the spiral staircase.  
  
Senkrad walked up the steps until they finally arrived at the top. Luthor spied around and saw that the windows had wooden boards across, as if to block out light. The room was so small it could barely house to people like Senkrad and Luthor. There was a desk at the wall with a large tome. The cover looked like faces were writhing in agony out of the front. Luthor opened the book and read to himself.  
  
'Some specimens will not allow transplants with certain parts. For example, elf hands decompose too fast to be transplanted. Whereas human hands are acceptable as long as you don't leave it too long. Skaven paws are excellent for transplanting, even though they decompose fast they are easy to attach once you have blood flowing through them.'  
  
Luthor closed the book and peered around the room. "You can rest here, no witch hunters can reach you," said Senkrad as he put the book under his cloak.  
  
"Thank you, although I fear no witch hunter" growled Luthor. Senkrad left the room and Luthor rested his broken arm down gently and tried hard to get to sleep.  
  
Luthor opened his eyes but to his surprise there was no light, either he had woken in the night or he had his throat slit while he slept. He decided it was the former as he pulled himself to his feet. No light could enter the tower room anyway; the vampire had put wooden planks over the windows to stop sunlight seeping through. He looked around and attached his curved knives to his belt and opened the rotten door to walk down the long spiral staircase.  
  
When he reached the bottom Senkrad was there to greet him. "Did you sleep well?" asked Senkrad, was that a hint of sarcasm in his voice that Luthor detected.  
  
"Well enough" replied Luthor "I thought the sunlight burnt vampires?"  
  
"Yes it does, but I am inside my humble mansion where the sun cannot reach me" answered Senkrad as he sat down at a long table.  
  
"Tell me about my father" demanded Luthor  
  
"There is no time. Witch hunters are here"  
  
"What"  
  
"Yes, witch hunters, the humans know I dwell here and often send witch hunters. They never succeed," said Senkrad.  
  
Luthor ran to the window, and as they were on the second level of the building he had a better vantage point.  
  
The witch hunters had a few psychotic Sigmarite peasants who were reciting passages from the holy book. A few peasants that had armed themselves with farming tools and certain kitchen implements. And lastly a Templar at the rear of the party, he was wearing full armour and had a glowing sword.  
  
"Pathetic aren't they. If they spent less time burning proposed heretics and more time actually finding Chaos followers, the empire might be a better place," said Senkrad as he rose from his chair and walked over to a cabinet. He took a small key from his pocket and opened the drawer. Inside was a long silver sword that was inscribed with red runes. He then opened another drawer and pulled out, what looked like a sheet of human skin that had been woven into robes.  
  
Senkrad draped the human skin over himself. "This is armour, designed to look like a flayed carcass of some poor soul who meddled with darkness too much" said Senkrad as he walked downstairs and opened the door of the mansion.  
  
Luthor looked down amazed. A peasant threw himself at the vampire, but Senkrad dodged the blow and slit the man's throat. Luthor knew a queue when he saw one, so drew his blades and darted downstairs. The fight was relatively fast; Senkrad never stepped into the pure morning sun while Luthor slaughtered them all outside, despite his broken arm. Luthor then dragged all the bodies inside and Senkrad extracted the blood from the bodies and poured it into a jug, which he saved for later.  
  
"I thank you for your hospitality Senkrad Von Carstein, but I have to carry on with my quest to find and kill this Khornate champion that has plagued me" said Luthor. "I see" said Senkrad as Luthor left the mansion. 


	8. A New Blade

Luthor left the Drakwald forest the way Senkrad had told him, he was now climbing a muddy dirt track leading to the Worlds Edge Mountains. Senkrad had used healing herbs on Luthor's arm, it was still broken but he could feel no pain in it and he could use it to fight with.  
  
It was night and the moons were both full. There was also a cold wind that would've made a normal man shiver but not Luthor; he was the chosen of Slaanesh after all.  
  
He had his flail clipped to his belt along with his two curved knives. His purple hood was covering his entire scar-filled face.  
  
Luthor put his pack down and set up camp a short distance off the trail. He looked up into the mountains and saw some light flickering out of a cave in the mountainside. That's strange, no travellers or bandits ever take this road, thought Luthor. He'd have to investigate.  
  
The mud swamped over his leather boots. Inside the cave was a very crude fire set up in the middle. Sat next to the fire were two mutated trolls. They were twice as big as a man and probably stronger than a frenzied black orc. One had huge tusks jutting out of his mouth, shoulders and arms and was a strange dark blue colour. The first troll was brandishing a axe, well it was more of a club than an axe since it was basically a wooden pole that had a piece of sharpened metal stuck on the end. The second troll had, what Luthor could only presume were fins coming out of its head and was wielding a long blade. This blade was of no normal origin, along the edge of it were small mouths, biting the air hoping to get a mouth full of flesh. Luthor had to have this sword, imagine the terror it would cause to his foes. Then something struck Luthor, the second troll had the mark of Slaanesh cut into its chest.  
  
How could he get this blade, he couldn't kill fellow Slaaneshi worshippers, but on the other hand... That sword, he must possess it.  
  
Luthor entered the cave. "You! Give me that sword!" Demanded Luthor. The first troll rose and roared, it stumbled over to Luthor very slowly. Luthor swung his flail and it connected with the troll's shoulder. Black blood covered Luthor from head to toe. The troll fell backwards and tripped over a rock, this left the troll exposed and on its knees. Luthor drew his knives and thrust them both into the troll's tender neck.  
  
The second troll got up and grinned menacingly as the mouths on the sword bit the air furiously. Luthor stood brandishing his two blades and jumped at the troll head on. One of his knives missed but the other sunk deep into the troll's chest, precisely where the mark of Slaanesh was located.  
  
To Luthors surprise the troll didn't back down, flinch or fall. Instead it drew its large festering fist back and swung at Luthor with one huge backhanded blow. Luthor reeled from the blow and was knocked to the ground. He dropped his knives and his hood fell off as he landed on the cold, grey cave floor.  
  
Instead of striking him like Luthor thought would happen, the troll opened his mouth and spoke some sort of old ruinous language. Luthor understood it; he was the chosen of Slaanesh after all.  
  
"You are worthy, brethren. I will not kill you because you also worship Lorgaah. Take the sword, chosen," said the troll in bad Reikspiel. Luthor was surprised, the troll had used Slaanesh's oldest name.  
  
"I Thank you, brother," said Luthor as he grasped the sword, being careful not to touch the blade.  
  
"The sword is called Arkhaar, it was found by Strykaar the great, but it was lost while he fled. I found it and have been waiting for a worthy bearer," said the troll as his wound sealed up. Trolls are famous for their regenerative capabilities. The Skaven of Clan Moulder are well known for using troll skin as armour since it is so hard and stubbornly broken. Luthor bowed low to the troll and left the cave only to find someone waiting for him at his camp... 


End file.
